When You Let a PMSing Chocoholic Plan a Mission
by BookFreak
Summary: Sequel to Step by Step: SG-1 Style. What happens when you let Sam plan your mission during a particularly chocoholic-y PMS COMPLETE Please Read and Review!
1. Mission Briefing

**When You Let a PMSing Chocoholic Plan a Mission...**

By BookFreak

Rating: G

Pairing: None

Class: Humor

Summary: What happens when you let Sam plan your mission during a particularly chocoholic-y PMS

A/N: This doesn't look much like humor or as described in the summary, but keep reading, it gets better. I promise.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, and devices belong to MGM/Gekko/Mutant Something-or-Other. This is created purely for entertainment purposes. No monetary compensation was received for the publication or creation of this work. The author claims no ownership of any trademarks, nor copyrights. The story itself is an original work of fiction copyrighted to the author.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

  


**{** _Mission Briefing_ **}**

This was possibly the most boring briefing I had ever sat through. 

I'd already counted the ceiling tiles (there were 564). Each was nine inches by nine inches

You ask how I know that?

Trigonometry, my dear Watson. My most hated subject, and here I was willingly engaging in it.

Does that tell you how bored I was?

Carter was up there giving a briefing on our mission. I'd stayed focused long enough to find out my part, which was getting the teams into the warehouse, packing up the crates, and getting them out, then dozed off a few seconds after she started on the contents of the crates I was packing.

I glanced over at Hammond. He was looking at the front of the room blearily, as if the general area of the front wall was the tightest focus he could get in his state.

I was glad to see I wasn't alone.  
  
Carter had stopped talking.

Was it over?

Grinning, I started to rise. My legs were falling asleep.

"_Lieutenant Siler?_" she barked, sounding like she had PMS.

_PMSCrap, I forgot my tithe._ All the SGC personnel knew to buy Carter a bar of milk chocolate every 28 days. People trying to get favors off her usually gave more expensive chocolates. It was a small price to pay for the security of knowing your head would stay firmly attached.

I noticed I was the only one standing, and Carter was starting to stare at me.

"UghOh! Sorry, sir! I mean, ma'am!" Siler jerked his head up. "CRAP!"

Carter turned away from me and gave him a glare that clearly said, _It was your own fault for falling asleep on the overhead projector, and if you don't change the slide right now I'm gonna give you a heck of a lot more than just a little bump on the head from the lens assembly!_

_Thank you, Siler. I'll be extra-careful with my stuff._ I sat down quickly.

"Sorry, sorry."

The slide changed to a shot of what was clearly a crate full of tiny naquadah ingots, each about an inch long, a half-inch wide, and a half-inch high. There was a large blotchy blur in the middle of the picture, where Siler's drool had obviously fallen.

Carter looked ready to leap over the table, but Hammond forestalled her deftly. "Naquadah?"

"It appears so, although the Goa'uld usually favor a somewhat larger ingot." She stared at the slide.

"Well, never mind that. Excellent work, Major. If you'd prepare a briefing for the other teams, you'll leave 0800 Monday. Dismissed."

I sprang up. "Excellent work, Carter."

She smiled. "Thank you, sir." Absentminded, a hand reached into her pocket and drew out a half-eaten bar of chocolate, not the flat kind that Hershey's makes, but a solid, ingot-like bar, obviously meant for baking as nobody could possibly bite through that. Carter snapped off a piece about easily, and popped it into her mouth.

I could imagine those hands around my neck all too easily. _Hell hath no fury as a woman menstruating_.

There was a vending machine outside. I could get to it, and buy a bar.

Two, to be safe.

We filed out the door, Sam turning left. 

Yes, I was going to make it. I was going to make it.

"So, I'll be seeing you around, Major."

She whirled. "_You'll be seeing you around? You'll be seeing me around?_ Just what is that supposed to mean, sir?"

_Crap!_ I jumped. "Nothing, Carter! Nothing, I swear!"

She relaxed. "Sure, sir."

I let out a breath. Funny how you tend to breathe differently when scared.

"Hey, anybody hungry?"

I could strangle him. Why the hell does Jonas have to eat so much?

"No, I'm fine."

Yes, yes. I started edging towards the vending machine.

"Actually, sure. I could do with a nice chocolate pudding. Or some Jell-O." Carter snapped off another piece of chocolate even as she spoke.

Where does she put it all? Even if it only happened a day or two every twenty-eight, there was no way a woman could continuously consume chocolate like that and still retain Carter's slim figure.

Must be all the fleeing and firefights and lugging heavy doohickeys up and down stairs.

"You guys go ahead. I'll catch up."

I walked off nonchalantly, away from the vending machine, until they'd rounded the corner. Then I hauled butt right back, and fed in a dollar fifty.

E17.

The vending machine gurgled, and my coins clinked down inside with a merry tinkle.

Safety was at hand!

Any minute now

I banged on the vending machine. The bar of chocolate stayed in its little spiral-wire holder.

Okay, don't panic. There was another vending machinein the cafeteria.

So I wasn't going to get it today.

That was fine.

All I had to do was make sure I didn't piss Carter off until I got off tonight. I'd stop by the Chocoholics Anonymous place on my way home and get her something fancy to make up.

All I had to do was keep her on an even keel for anotherfive hours and thirty-two minutes.

I could do that. I didn't piss her off that easily.

_You'll see me around? You'll see me around? Just what is that supposed to mean, sir?_

I was doomed.


	2. Feeding the Tigress

**Chapter 2**  
**{** _Feeding the Tigress_ **}**

Carter had PMS and free run of the base-nobody was about to get in her way just for the sake of a few regs-and I was a day overdue with my chocolate.

Unless I could get it in the base.

The kitchen!

Yes, I was brilliant!

They'd definitely have some chocolate on hand. As if the Air Force would miss out on such a perfect opportunity to defray a few operating expenses.

Now how could I get in there without being seen?

"Siler!"

The poor lieutenant was obviously still recovering from his close brush with death, because he jumped halfway to the ceiling. "Oh, just you, sir. I'm, uh, a bit busy, can't this wait?"

"Siler, I need you to get me into the kitchen."

"Uh, no can do, sir. Sorry."

"Siler, you've got five seconds to decide between taking me in or repainting the base with one of Dr. Jackson's little archaeology brushes!" I barked, getting right in his face.

"Uh, the answer stands, sir."

I wasn't getting through to him. Carter had him under her thumb.

"Lieutenant, all you're doing is taking me in. Even if she catches us, I'll take the rap."

He didn't even answer; the response was obvious. It wouldn't be the first time Carter's operated on guilt by association. I still had trouble sleeping if I thought of what she'd done to the poor airman, and I was the kind of person who'd seen village of corpses and managed to catch my usual six hours.

It was time for a different approach. "Siler, I hear that you're having some trouble getting the requisitions for those doped diamonds approved."

Siler blanched. Carter had asked him for those things a month ago, for one of her little doohickeys. Something about semiconductors that I didn't quite understand.

"I know some people, Siler, who can get those through lickety-split. But I won't be around to make that happen if you won't get me into that kitchen. Soscratch my back and I'll scratch yours, right?"

"Sure, sir." He led me off.

* * *

"No, sir."

"What do you mean, 'no, sir'?" I demanded, getting frustrated.

"Sir, we don't have a single bar of chocolate left. You wouldn't believe how many people are scared when the major gets like this."

Figured. "Listen, airman. I'd be willing to settle for anything. Pudding, even."

"Well" the airman's face twitched, then resolved itself. "No, sir. We haven't got even a single bar of chocolate."

I pounced. "Ah, but you have something else, don't you?"

"Uh"

"I can't hear you!" That line always got them, especially the new ones. Sometimes it makes me think the DI's are in a constant state of PMS.

"Sir! Yes, sir!" The airman barked, snapping to like he'd signed up for the Marines.

"At ease, airman. Now where is it?"

He pointed. "Sir, you can't take that. It's for Kayla."

I glanced. It was a beautiful half-gallon of fudge ice cream, with chocolate-chip cookie crumbs. "Airman, you've just earned yourself a commendation."

"Sir, that's for Kayla."

KaylaHammond's granddaughter?

I weighed my options.

Steal ice cream from the granddaughter of my general and CO

"_No more blue Jell-O?_" came Carter's outraged cry. Siler, the airman, and myself went down on the floor.

"Airman, you've got five minutes to get me a banana split with that ice cream."

Hammond wouldn't mind if a few scoops were missing. It was his command Carter would be terrorizing if she didn't get her chocolate, after all.

The general wouldn't mind making a few sacrifices for his people.

"Airman, the general will understand. And the faster Carter gets that the sooner she leaves."

The airman started belly crawling towards the freezer.

Siler and I huddled under a table until Carter changed her mind and wandered off with a packet of cookies.

"Here's your ice cream, sir! Please give it to her quickly!" The airman shoved a bowl into my hands, and I followed Siler out the rear entrance.

Trying not to touch the bowl as I held it, I circled and came back in, stopping briefly to get a spoon before heading   
towards the large circle of unoccupied tables around Carter's position.

"Hi, Major, Jonas." I held the bowl behind my back, angling for a bit of sport here.

Carter sniffed. 

God, could she _smell_ chocolate?

"_You have chocolate_," she hissed, staring at me.

"Maybe."

I never thought such vicious daggers could spurt from Carter's clear, baby-blue eyes.

"_Give me. Now!_"

I plopped the bowl down in front of her quickly. The woman could do a frightening imitation of T.I. Garcia when she wanted toeven though I'd gone through Basic decades ago and Garcia was a little white-haired Mexican man who looked like he should be terrorizing piranha in a nursing home somewhere.

Carter's eyes grew huge.

"I thought you might be a bit peckish."

"Thank you, sir!" she squealed suddenly, causing half the people in the room to hunch over their meals and eat with noticeably more speed and the other half to pop their heads up and glance our way like frightened rabbits. 

Looks like I wasn't the only one getting flashbacks of their Basic days.

Carter dug into the sundae likewell, like a chocoholic woman in the grips of pre-menstruation syndrome.


	3. Pre Misson

**Chapter 3**  
**{** _Pre-Mission_ **}**

I arrived at the mountain bright and early the next day. We had a day to drill for a multiple-entry storming of a naquadah warehouse in hostile territory by seven USAF teams and the USMC defense teams.

Sam's parking space is empty, I pull into it out of habit before I remember why it's empty. I peel out immediately, and spend a few minutes searching for another.

"Hi, Sergeant!" I handed the man my pass. "You coming?"

"Yes, sir." He returned my card. "The General plans to strip the base bare, sir, and let NORAD hold the fort."

I nodded and moved on through. We were literally in NORAD's basement, so it made sense.

Although I wondered how Hammond was going to explain that they not only had to hold the entrance, they also had to stop any big heavily-armored guys carrying laser-shooting staff weapons and screaming "kree!" all the time coming from the lower SGC levels as well.

It just made me glad I was only 2nd in command.

Whistling a jaunty tune, I rode the elevator down.  


* * *

"All right, people, that was pathetic! I've got half a mind to send you all back to boot camp and get some Baby Flight recruits up here! SG-2, where the hell were you when SG-5 blew the door? Support each other, for ----'s sake!"

I paused, and tried to remember how we'd divided the Marines up. The plan called for a bunch of independent and mobile teams storming the warehouse from multiple points on the perimeter, getting in in thirty seconds flat, and running simultaneous uncoordinated search-and-destroy through the area, so our one defense was too big to get in through a single entry fast enough, and too unwieldy to split and sweep through without falling into some predictable pattern that'd allow the snakes to set up a measured defense.

Marine Assault Group! Right-o!

"Mag-4, you're wearing combat boots! If the door isn't blown cleanly, just kick the thing off its hinges! Let's try this again, and I'd better not see this sort of screw-up this time! We're doing it for real tomorrow, and I don't need to remind you what happens if anybody screws up!"

I paused a moment to let them think it over. They were all veteran troops; they knew if anybody screwed up people were gonna die. 

"All right, let's withdraw. Siler, get those doors out!"

Siler and his team had worked their typical miracle. They'd constructed a scale replica of the warehouse overnight. There was no single space large enough, of course, so Siler had knocked down the walls and corridors, and joined four of the larger storage rooms. There had, incidentally, been a problem about the walls, which were reinforced concrete. Major Pierce had solved it neatly by turning Siler around and pointing out the contents of Storage 12 with the bark of, "Lieutenant! Did you or did you not receive the inventory for this room? Now do I need to call my team down here to unpack and set these umpteen tons of C-4 or do you think you can manage it?"

Siler and the airmen rushed out. With hammers and chisels they knocked out the little balsa-wood doorframes, dragged in new ones, and bolted them in neatly. Whereas the frames were wood for easy removal, the actual doors and all load-bearing members were steel, to simulate the actual thing. 

Using these, and the intar weapons, Siler had designed a live-fire house that could be used indefinitely as long as we had new doors and the guys didn't get too tired of charging in and shooting each other. 

I rejoined my team, tucked under a balsawood "hill", passing the megaphone to an airman. "Three, two, one, mark!" I counted. Teal'c and I picked up the ladder and charged forward, Carter and Jonas running along to provide cover fire. We smacked it on the wall, and pulled our P90s from the chest cords with one hand, holding the ladder steady with the other. Sam and Jonas reached down and scooped away two little divots of earth. We thumped the ladder down securely, seating the "feet" in the indentations.

"Go, go!" The major scrambled up, with Teal'c and I on her heels.

A string of four explosions signaled SG-3, 4, 5, and MAG-2's entries. Perfect. We'd get there just in time to catch the Jaffa blazing away with those nice, bright staff weapons.

Gunfire rang out.

_Crap!_

I debated whether or not to halt the sim. The thought of screaming, "Congratulations, people! Somebody's just murdered another team!" was extremely appealing. Those numskulls weren't supposed to open fire until they'd gotten inside, popped a few grenades to liven things up, and, more importantly, provide the light needed to determine the locations of the crates. Shooting into a crate of naquadah was guaranteeing a crap load of ricochets, which could shred a team faster than those staff weapons. And if the fire reached across the warehouse and hit somebody else's entry point

No, I'd see where this led.

Carter scrambled down a few rungs, trailing bright red wire.

"Fire in the hole!" she called, probably just for the heck of it.

The C-4 blew, and the flaming remains of a door soared over our heads. We scrambled through.

Master Bra'tac's renegade Jaffa were blazing away with their little intar weapons, sending staff and zat blasts all over the place. Hammond had somehow gated him in during the night, and he was happy to give us some help. Although I suspect Hammond reporting only about five-sixths of the estimated naquadah had something to do with it. 

We hunkered down on the little ledge and shot away. 

More rectangles of fire and dusty light appeared in the upper walls, and the Jaffa spared a few shots upward, but nobody came through. Instead, another three teams rushed in from the previously made ground-floor entries. These, however, didn't shoot, but instead sneaked in, holding their weapons low and heading for their more beleaguered comrades.

Looked like Master Bra'tac's managed to marshal some of his forces into MAG-2's sector. He was putting up a fairly good fight, even considering that he'd already been through this battle once.

_Crap!_ Somebody down on the floor had just run themselves into a dead end and gotten shot by a bunch of Jaffa running along the tops of the crates. Master Bra'tac was a smart little man.

By now the firefight was so loud I can't hear the jackhammers of the last of the marine defense team drilling through the ceiling.

"Let's move!"

We covered our advance to the ladders. The other upper-level teams were starting to go down as well.

I dropped to the ground, swapping magazines hastily.

A Jaffa turned toward me. I raised my half-loaded rifle, but Carter shot him first.

"Jaffa, kree!"

"Geeeer-ronimooooo!" replied the marines as they fast-roped in, guns already shooting.

The simulation was over in two minutes.

It wasn't good yet, not with the shooting problem and that bunch of idiots not noticing half an army of hulking guys with 6-foot poles right on top of them, and then the roof people coming in shooting before they'd even figured out who they should be shooting and where those people were, but it was certainly better than the first. 

SG-2 had decided to follow MAG-3 up ladder, and use explosives to blow a hole into the roof (the piece of roof only wrecked a few crates, thank god!). MAG-2 had delayed almost a minute because their munitions specialist had made his "frame" too wide and just gouged a furrow into the wall next to the hinges. SG-5 blew the door successfully but got turned in the warehouse and started a firefight with us. Then half the roof assault team, probably because of SG-2, came in the wrong places and made some very painful landings on the crates.

The first run through we'd used a bunch of Hershey's Cookies'n'Cream White Chocolate Nuggets to simulate the ingots (they were identical in size), but about half of them disappeared, and Carter started to get rather overexcited and white around the mouth, so that was scrubbed.

Now I just pulled out and waited a few minutes until everybody had woken up, and then started my post-simulation spiel. 

I hadsix more hours, minus a lunch break, to get this show straight.

I did have one thing working for me, though. Carter was on the other side of the room, working her way back chewing people out. They'd shape up. Carter PMS'ing was no laughing matter.

Now all I needed to do was make sure some smartass didn't piss her off and give the term "chewing out" a much more literal meaning.


	4. Mission

**Chapter 4**  
**{** _Mission_ **}**

I stepped through the gate. The warehouse was one of a complex of seven about five miles off to my left. In this soft, lush green grass and cool damp predawn (it was 0800 of 2359 at the mountain, about 0400 of 3622 here) we'd walk it in an hour or two. 

But we wouldn't have to.

No, sir.

Because, you see, there was no way a force our size could lug a warehouse in naquadah and still be in any shape to fight off pursuit. Not when whoever made the warehouse had to use ten Jaffa to carry each one, and that was without weapons at a speed somewhere between a slow shuffle and a sedate stroll.

So our good General pulled a few strings, and got us a nice little fleet of ATVs. We'd have to stash them a half-mile or so away to avoid detection, but an hour and forty-five minutes off the march was good.

* * *  


I counted the clicking. We were keeping radio broadcasts as short as possible, as there were six more warehouses stuffed with Jaffa within a few miles. A double-click meant the team was in place, a single click meant more time, no clicking indicated they weren't responding to radio for some reason.

Seven teams.

Where the hell were the others?

I heard footsteps, and whirled around.

The airman stopped belly-crawling to raise his gun-hand.

"What is it?"

"Sir, there's nobody outside. No sensors either; we checked it out. We can set up right outside."

I turned and stared back, thinking.

Without that quick rush, there'd be no chance of anybody screwing up their explosives again. 

"Okay, airman. Go tell the other teams."

He made a face but crawled off obediently.

Teal'c and I walked up with the ladder, Jonas and Carter digging the little divots for the feet. We plopped the ladder down, and leaned the top onto the wall.

No alarms.

Good.

Carter scrambled up, a block of C-4 in hand.

The clicks started coming in just as she backed down with the detonator.

I waited until everybody had gotten into place, then muttered, "Mark."

Four explosions rang out, followed by the rapid-fire boom-booms of the grenades. 

I counted to three, then muttered, "Second wave, mark."

Carter squished the detonator handle down, then tossed the little box away as a door-shaped chunk of whatever the Goa'uld used for concrete flew above us.

"Go, go!" I cried, charging up the ladder.

The "door" wasn't quite level with the catwalk, and my first step plunged into the oblivion. I gasped, and caught myself with my other foot before hurrying forward.

The Jaffa were already engaging the floor teams, but a few managed to spray the upper catwalks with a withering hail of staff blasts.

I ducked down and took cover under the railing. For once I was actually grateful for the Goa'uld tendency towards the heavy and ornate; the railing was more like a little sandbag wall of gleaming metal.

Apparently somebody decided there was nothing up there, because the blasts stopped.

I poked my head over, then sighted on a bright cluster of staff blasts and let rip.

Targets and marksmanship went right out the window; the Jaffa had cut power and in the dim and uncertain light of the warehouse all that I could see were the little flashes ten feet below. I sighted a bit to the back of them and started popping off the little three-round bursts they teach in Basic.

The staff blasts were getting more and more sporadic, and more and more widespread. All would be quiet, with the people down there silently stalking each other in the gloom, then suddenly a P90 would chatter and a staff would reply with its distinctive _t'sew!_ Then, as if taking encouragement from each others' resistance, more and more would reply, until the entire warehouse was a haze of bright, scything orange muzzle flashes and red staff blasts and blue zat shots zipping back at impossible speeds.

"Third wave, mark!" I shout, emptying my magazine into a little mob near SG-4's sector.

Where was SG-2? I glanced up at the ceiling, but it was blissfully unmarred by C-4.

More "doors" blasted on the catwalk, and such concentrated and intensive fire blazed through those smoking portals that every Jaffa down there must have been shooting up. I squinted down my barrel and dropped a Jaffa or two. 

Damn this haze, these bullets are supposed to be smokeless!

The number of Jaffa shooting dropped suddenly.

Had they used those precious moments while the Jaffa were shooting the empty entries to cut them down?

Obviously not, because staff and zat fire suddenly lit up the center of the warehouse. They weren't just shooting any more, they were shooting under central guidance and command, in organized volleys, sending radial waves of searing light down the little alleys between the high-stacked crates.

If the Marines dropped in now, they'd be cut down instantly.

I glanced at the roof. Was that a jackhammer I just saw flash out of the concrete?

Suddenly, not the fragmented shower of light debris originally planned, but a single huge circular piece of concrete dropped down. The predawn gloom filtered in.

The air was silent except for the high-pitched whir of the ropes and the quick, short bursts of P90 fire from the Marines fast-roping in.

The Jaffa were apparently so stunned by having half the ceiling drop down on them they weren't even shooting back now.

It took ten minutes to mop up after that.

Carter, grinning like a kid in a candy shop, grabbed a Jaffa's staff and shot the clasp off a crate. 

I use the term crate lightly. Unlike the normal wooden things we'd use in the mock-up back on Earth, these crates were dark, smooth-polished wood bound in that glittering gold metal Goa'uld seem to love so much. There were twelve bands crossing the width of the crate, six of which were wider and more intricately carved than the others. These ended in a pattern of gleaming gems set into the gold.

Carter walked around the crate, shooting each of these little gem clusters. "Help me lift this."

We grabbed hold of the lid and lifted. It was heavier than I expected, but we budged it aside a foot before setting it down.

Carter grinned and picked up a little ingot.

I started to reach for one, to see if the stuff was really as heavy as they said it was.

Carter snarled at me. I swear, she snarled. 

I jerked my hand back. I was as brave as the next guy, but Carter was possessive about her doohickeys. A warehouse of naquadah was probably better than chocolate.

And Carter was crazy about chocolate.

Carter returned to her contemplation of the little ingot in her hand. Then she unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth.

I gaped. "Carter?"

She smiled blissfully. "Goa'uld grauld'fitzch, sir. Finest white chocolate in the galaxy."

"Carter!" I yelp.  
  
"I never said it was naquadah. You assumed it was naquadah. You assume too much, sir."

"Hey, you know something, this is pretty good."

I turned, a lump of leaden already forming in my stomach.

Jonas grinned at me, oblivious to his very imminent and very painful death, and popped another of the little chocolates into his mouth.

I covered Teal'c's eyes.

* * *

**Like it? Hate it?**

Please tell me! The 1-10 scale is fine. Just review! I'm starving for some feedback here!

**PS:** The sequel is named _PMS: The Ultimate Blanket Authorization_, and is written from Carter's Point of View. I realize Carter was a bit too snappish in this one, but it _was_ done deliberately. Yes, believe it or not, I had this planned. The sequel explains it all.


End file.
